


the moments that stay

by shanyuan



Series: into the burgisverse™ [5]
Category: Burgisverse
Genre: Backstory, Drabble Collection, High School, Memories, Other, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28683453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanyuan/pseuds/shanyuan
Summary: A collection of nonsequential drabbles revolving around my muses; set years before the current timeline in Burgisverse.
Series: into the burgisverse™ [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122821
Kudos: 3





	1. the school, past five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which on the rare day that Heidi Irmgard goes home without a headache, it's because of reasons she did not expect. At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credits to aysel for fritjof larsen, best boy <3 also severe butchering up ahead bc i don't know how to write said boy <3 i'm winging this, lo siento <3
> 
> also; this is set during their fourth year, mayhaps.

Inside the sublime halls of their high school, rare were the days wherein Heidi Irmgard went home to their manor with no throbbing headache.

The walls were irritating. Each scratch and slap reverberated inside her ear, taunting her until she felt as if she no longer had control over her primary senses. Indeed, the walls in their school were loud and frightening, always screaming for her to do better, to make haste, to fix the trouble caused by the freshmen and to send the sophomores home before five in the afternoon.

She was falling in quicksand whenever she felt the avoidant stares of the students in the school; the floors were suddenly not hard with tiles. They were soft like sand, sinking and sinking and never once surrendering. Some days, Heidi would let herself fall freely into the pit, because clawing her way out has been significantly harder now that her friends were gradually replacing her.

There is only bitterness present when she exhales.

Everything was too overbearing today; so she did what she was accustomed to doing: confining herself inside the comforts of the music room, and playing whatever piece comes to mind with the piano situated near the far-end corner. Albeit she could no longer remember the last time she played the piano as a means to relieve her of her stress, but that never stopped her in the past—so why would it stop her now?

Her fingers press against the keys sloppily, her vision getting blurrier with each passing note, and with each tear that slid down her cheeks; today was no different from her usual ones. Tuesday. The sun was bright against the stained glass of the window, the beams of the sunset passing through in hazy rays, barely reaching the vestige of Heidi's skin. She didn't mind. Perhaps she thrived in dim places.

When she no longer feels her hands, she allows her forehead to fall gently on the stretcher bar; the sounds of her guilt still blaring out with each push of a key.

But slower, this time, gentler; until the inevitable moment wherein the piano was not audible anymore.

Just as Heidi Irmgard was about to shrug away the heavy weight on her shoulders, something resonates in the room, but it was neither her music nor her sniffles; instead, it was the brisk sound of three sharp knocks on the door of the music room, the hinges squeaking subsequently after as soon as the person behind it swings it open.

“Ah, look who it is!” Heidi Irmgard stiffs in place as soon as she recognizes the owner of the voice. “My favorite Austrian girl!”

“Fritjof,” shortly after she spoke, she straightened her posture. She, however, made no action to turn around to face the said male. “It's past five in the afternoon. What are you still doing on campus?”

Even without looking, Heidi could feel the familiar grin that Fritjof always fashioned spreading straight across his lips. “I could ask you the same thing, Heids.”

“I'm just cleaning the piano,” she lied, pushing back her seat to finally rise from her place. Soon, she lets her hands smoothen out the ruffles that formed on her blouse, picking up her backpack from the floor thereafter. “You can go home now, Fritjof, I'll be locking up the room.”

Through the corner of her swollen eyes, she could see her batchmate hang by the side of the doorframe, as if determining what action to take next. As expected, however, he knocks twice on the open door for dramatic effect, turning around to make his exit.

“Alright then, good luck locking up!” He calls out to her from outside of the room. He looks at her one last time, with the same smile as usual, but this time, Heidi makes the terrible mistake of looking at him longer than necessary.

The words that would spew out of Fritjof's mouth moments later would inevitably make Heidi's eyes widen in embarrassment.

“Play a song for me when you're not crying, Firebird!”

That day, Heidi would leave the music room with no impending headache and with her feet planted firmly on the ground; her mind would get riddled with endless waves of thoughts, which would be something along the lines of  _ I am never going to cry about Zhao Yang at school ever again. _


	2. with the muddy soil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Floris van der Stoep was used to always getting whatever it is his heart and soul desired, with just a measly snap of a finger; but the first time he acknowledges the one thing he felt was unattainable, it comes to him easier than he never would have imagined.

His car broke down.

In the middle of the streets, no less, somewhere in Manila where the post lights were either too dimly lit, or too unlit. He was trying to get away from the bustling part of the city, the one that played Christmas songs during late October; rendered too exhausted to put up with it, primarily due to his unfortunate hobby of hopping from party to party.

Floris van der Stoep kicks the door of his car close as soon as he gets out, sharp eyes scanning the visible smoke gushing out from under the hood. He rolls up his sleeves, soon taking the initiative to hoist it open and see what the problem was.

He curses underneath his breath; it was undignified—or however others usually call it—of him to do so in public, especially right amidst a supposedly busy district. 

His phone was dead in his pocket—drained to the bottom; he wouldn't be able to call for his usual mechanic, much less call anyone at all. No payphones nearby. The sky was getting darker, his vision was getting clearer, and sobriety was slowly wrapping itself tight around his neck and fingers. 

Floris steadies himself on his feet; coughing lightly when he finds himself mistakenly inhaling the remnants of the smoke. Left first, and then forward, he turns every direction until he could faintly see a seated figure atop a swing, in the playground adjacent to an unlit postlight.

“Hey!” He waves his hands above his head to catch the stranger's attention. “My car broke down! Can you help?”

A few steps forward; he lets the soles of his rubber shoes make contact with the muddy soil, dirt spilling subtly across his shoes. He had no time to dwell over that.

“Fucking hell,” he shudders when he hears the voice of the person he seeked out, an amused smile already settling on his lips. “What do I have to do to get some alone time around here?”

Floris clicks his tongue. “Kaufmann, you're looking lovely tonight.”

She wasn't.

The high-points of her cheeks were struck with red, presumably flushed from all the crying, which was evident with how swollen her eyelids were tonight. The crevices of her jawline were still wet with flowing mascara stains, and her hair was unkempt, framing her face delicately. He laughs at Heidi Irmgard openly; earning a sharp glare from the Austrian herself subsequently after.

“You're still an annoying piece of shit,” she groans in distress, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Easy there,” Floris shrugs, leaning on the one of the bars that held the swing up high. “Wish I was here to irritate you, but actually, my car's not starting. Kinda need help, you know?”

She looks up at him from her seat, glaring at him in sheer reluctance. “Fine. Make it quick. I have to cry a lot more before going home.”

Their journey to his car was brisk and quiet, much to his delight. He would occasionally look back to steal a few glances on Heidi, just to make sure she wasn't  _ too _ caught up in the pain of having to stomach each rock her bare feet had the unfortunate luck of stepping on.

Once they were there, she would ask him to stand back, and get out of her way.

“Your battery's dead,” she sighs, tying her hair with a scrunchie to prevent it from getting soiled with car grease. “You need to jump-start it with a  _ working _ car battery.”

He nods at her, inching closer to where Heidi was. She visibly stiffens up, soon taking one step away from the male to maintain a safe distance.

“Well, did you bring a car?” Floris asks her, shrugging away his leather jacket, soon letting it hang on his arm.

The older of the two only huffs in annoyance.

“Let's see. I was sitting on the swing, barefooted, with mascara running down my cheeks,” Heidi arches up one of her eyebrows, with her left hand perched on her hips. “Which part of my ensemble  _ screams _ ‘I drove a car here’?”

Floris rolls his eyes, leaning on the side of his car. He stares at her, his free hand rubbing his nape comfortingly. Then, he lets an amused smirk settle on his chapped lips. “You could have just said no, Kaufmann. Why do you like complicating things?”

“And you could have just handled this on your own, Floris.” She retaliates, wiping her hands on the male's sleeves to rid them of the excess oil. He only laughs at her in amusement. “Why do you like my company so much, hm?”

For many, many years, Floris would forget the feeling of her hands grazing his skin, but what he said next would always remain inside the corner of his mind.

“For starters, yours is the only one I have to work hard for.”


	3. sophomore year for natalya mikalaj

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second person that managed to light up every dark room that Natalya Mikalaj was in.

When reminiscing, sophomore year has always been hazy for Natalya Mikalaj.

She could recall moping around the empty hallways at 5:30 in the morning; walking alongside Levyn Leano, ranting about her confession to Berhtram Izaak the year prior and just how much she missed seeing his smile light up every room. But he graduated last March, and he was studying in Berlin then, or so the rumors said.

But there was a certain Thursday in early October that she would never forget.

“You have nothing else better to do, huh?” Andrius Jokūbas, a senior, stares at Natalya with his curious green eyes, his arched left brow gradually lowering after a few seconds. “Annoy someone else, Mika. I'm eating lunch with my girlfriend.”

Sure enough, his girlfriend in question—some girl named Winola, from the cheer squad—chuckles heartily beside him. Her hand was wrapped around his, hidden under the table, but Natalya's always been a keen observer. 

“Levyn's practicing lines for his play. I don't have other friends.” She mutters quietly, eyes plastered intently on the floor. The cafeteria was bustling with students from different years, idle chatter growing apparent with each person that entered through the entrance of the room. Andrius instinctively frowns, heaving a sigh thereafter.

“Alright, alright. But don't get used to it—it's DSPC season, so I don't have a lot of free time,” he purses his lips into a thin line, eyes flickering to Winola. “Lunch break is the only chance I get to actually spend time with her.” 

Winola smiles endearingly at Andrius after that, and the male shoots her a smile back, causing Natalya to shiver in uneasiness.

“Yikes. I don't condone PDA. I've seen enough of that from Maks and Erika.” Natalya rolls her eyes as soon as she finishes talking, crossing her arms and leaning on the back of her chair. Her friend was about to reopen his mouth to speak, but instead his lips spread out to form a lazy smile; his attention soon averting to someone in Natalya's direction.

“Hey! Done with your topics already?” 

Natalya doesn't look back to check who Andrius was talking to; apart from the fact that she was at least 80% sure that she wouldn't know who it was anyway, she also didn't really care enough to find out. She holds onto her juicebox firmly to ease away the ever growing loneliness—luckily enough, Winola was too caught up with typing a text message to notice, and Andrius was busy making small talk with his friend.

“Almost, actually. I still have to write my captions. I just went here to buy some water.” 

She listens in on their conversation to take her mind off of her busy after school schedule; violet optics still refusing to look up from the nutrition facts label of her apple juice. However, she hears someone from afar calling out for her name—it sounded like Relia, but she wasn't quite sure because of the distance—so she blinks twice; slowly raising her head.

But her eyes fall onto Andrius' friend instead of the doorway, almost as if on instinct. 

Natalya shivers, for the second time that day, as she watched the room brighten up along with the person's soft grin. 

“See you at the training room, Andre. Have fun with Tin.”

Only when his back is turned does Natalya pry her gaze away—opting to look at the plain, white ceiling; Andrius notices her avoidance, but he doesn't bother bringing it to light.

She would find out later on that day that the person she saw in the cafeteria was one of the photojournalists in training—and if she were brave enough to ask Andrius for his name before she went back to her classroom, then she would have added Raivis Andrejs to the list of people from high school that she would never forget.

Natalya Mikalaj would remember the stranger's smile vividly again after a few years; but only because she would meet him formally once she was in college.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> credits to who? to aysel for raivis andrejs <3


	4. the brisk september wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalya Mikalaj's first love was also coincidentally one of her first few friends, as well.

She never learned about floriography growing up—that was Natasha's thing. And Natalya Mikalaj knew better than to pursue whatever it was that her older sister had her eye on.

But she loved gardening; tending to the flowers and the greens, trimming bushes and planting trees. She may not have known what roses or daisies or pansies meant, but she knew how to grow them and take care of them. 

It came as a surprise to nobody in her immediate circle when they learned that Natalya volunteered everyday to water the flowers in the school garden.

“The flowers look wonderful today.”

She nearly drops her watering can.

She jumps in place, a low wince escaping her pale lips as soon as she hears his voice. He always surprised her—even when he had no intention of doing so. Natalya straightens her posture, soon turning her head to the side to face her companion.

“Ah,” she begins, the usual fluttering of the butterflies in her stomach growing prevalent. “Thank you. Would you like an orchid?”

Berhtram Izaak, a senior in her school, chuckles endearingly, taking small steps toward the bench adjacent to one of the garden patches. “Your orchids aren't in bloom yet, Natalya. The buds are still unopened. They would die if you touched them now.”

She blinks twice in understanding, light pink dusting the high points of her cheeks. “Right. You told me that last week. Sorry, I forgot.”

He smiles. “It's okay! No need to apologize when it comes to me.”

She curses all the stars in the sky for being lackluster next to Berhtram's grin.

“Why are you here?” The question slips out from Natalya carelessly, voice still somewhat soft even though her tone sounded harsher than she intended. “I mean, music club meeting? You don't have that today?”

He sighs in place, eyes plastered intently on Natalya's watering can. “I do, actually. I guess I'm just not feeling up to it.” A shrug; he offers her another bright smile, though it doesn't reach his eyes. “You're always in the garden after school, 'no?”

“Yes. Is that a crime?”

“Never said it was.”

“Well, I didn't like your tone.”

Berhtram bursts into a fit of light laughter after so, his left hand falling atop his stomach. She stares at him for a while, watching the strands of his dark brown hair sway along with the brisk September wind; at that moment, it took everything out of Natalya to keep her feet planted firmly on the soil.

“You don't have a lot of friends?”

She noticeably flinches after hearing his question; a wave of panic flashes across his eyes for a quick moment.

“Sorry! That was rude. It's just something I heard from Katya.”

Natalya drops her watering can gently near one of the flower patches, soon trudging toward the bench that Berhtram sat comfortably on. She takes a seat beside him; maintaining a safe distance.

“I'll have you know that flowers make for good companions,” she jokes, shrugging. She lets a small, bitter smile spread across her expression, her eyes avoiding his brown ones. “I don't understand them, but they're easier to take care of. Easier to satisfy?”

She expects him to frown due to her blatant patheticness, but he doesn't. He smiles his usual smile, and he reaches out to ruffle her hair playfully. Natalya glares at him—both for ruining her hair, and for sending her heart flying through the skies.

“I could say the same to you, though.” He stands up from the bench. “That means you're my friend now. And you know what I do to my friends?”

She gulps. “What?”

“I tell them about the leaf that's stuck in their hair.”

Natalya doesn't curse the stars then—she openly curses Berhtram Izaak and the teasing laughter that she would come to get used to over the next few months.


	5. a downward spiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluency in tasseography was a requirement in the Yang family's household—Zao's regrets in life had prevented him from talking to the leaves, but someone from the freshmen changed that, one afternoon.

During his second to the last year of high school, the debate club room started harboring a distinct smell—Zao thought nothing of it at first, opting to just regard it as something he shouldn't dwell on. Over time, however, especially after many instances of disturbing Nicholas Aliaksei during his club hours, he had come to realize that it smelled of honey and syrup, almost like the scent of pollen from a flowering tree.

He was in junior year when he found out why.

The school after class hours was empty and free from the abundance of students; some days, he would hear the familiar piano playing by that one freshman (Carlo, or was it Carlos?) coming from the music room. Raina and the rest of the team would be prancing around the field, doing cheer stuff, or whatever—he didn't like associating himself with anything that reminded him of Katya Natasha, the sophomore. Winola would be scattered all over the school—and Zao would be looking for Nicholas, on the rare occasion that he didn't have basketball practice.

Such as now.

“Knock, knock.” He mutters out right after his knuckles gently hit the surface of the debate club's door four times. “I'm coming in!”

Zao turns the handle, and pushes himself along with the door. 

“My Gods.” A soft voice resounds inside the room, but it belonged to no one that Zao knew. “Don't you know how to wait for a response?”

He blinks three times—first to adjust his steadily deteriorating eyesight, second to focus on the girl seated on the far right corner of the room, and third to ensure that he wasn't imagining things.

The club room was empty; its usual dwellers were not around. He scratches his head in confusion, walking towards the table wherein the girl sipped tea casually on.

“Where are the club members?” Was his immediate query, the brash part of his personality taking over as soon as he lets himself take a seat across the female. “No meeting today?”

She takes a quiet sip. “Is it not obvious?”

“Ah, well…” Sheepish laughter; Zao lets himself lean comfortably on the back of his chair. The hour was 5; the sun would set soon—but he was in no rush to leave. 

“Tea?”

He grins. “Linden blossom, 'no? That's a nice brew.”

“It's my favorite.”

Comfortable silence washes over the vicinity for a moment; the only sound heard inside the room then was the liquid gold that came pouring out from the pot's spout to the ceramic teacup.

“How long have you been drinking tea here?” He asks her, a curious brow raised. 

“A while.” She shrugs.

What he says next would baffle him the most.

“Done with your cup? I'll read your leaves.” Zao offers confidently, already halfway done with his own cup, hastily letting the warm drink pass through his throat. The girl tilts her head—out of curiosity, he assumed—an amused smirk falling on her lips. She pushes her cup toward him, her right hand making its way to tuck a few strands of her platinum blonde hair behind her ear.

Zao takes the cup hesitantly into his palms, turning it around until he could finally wrap his forefinger around the handle. The leaves are crowded near the far right corner, directly across the first quadrant. He gapes in awe.

“I see a river,” he blinks twice. “Wow. Lucky girl. Rivers are rare.”

She huffs. “Mountain? Or delta?”

Zao shakes his head dismissively, showing her the insides of the cup. “Neither. Longer than a snake, though. You know how to read tea leaves?”

“It's a hobby,” she nods once, soon patting Zao's hand, gesturing for him to give her the cup. He obliges, soon paying more attention to his own cup.

“Light patches in the last quadrant. Good things await you in a year's time.” Zao comments, taking more and more sips from the sweet beverage.

“It would be lovely if that were the case.” She releases a light chuckle. He looks at her in confusion. “But it's obviously a snake. The tail is coiled. Unhelpful friends in a year or so, it seems.”

He purses his lips into a thin line. Apologetically, Zao sighs. “Sorry. Looks like I'm a little rusty.”

He watches her erupt into a fit of soft chuckles. After a while, he finds himself doing the same, entertained by the strange girl seated across from him. She reminded him of how his older sister was, when they were younger; before their mother passed away. Chun-Yan loved reading tea leaves, more so when Zao was around, always willing to indulge his selfish requests of a standard reading. She would even shake up the cup if the fortune that Zao was given was not up to her taste. Chun loved Zao; she loved Fey, Yao, she loved tea. They talked through the leaves.

But as soon as everything went downhill, Chun-Yan became silent around him; she stopped entertaining his silly demands, she stopped drinking tea with Zao altogether. Not asking for her forgiveness had been one of his regrets ever since.

Once the usual wistfulness starts creeping up inside his stomach, he shakes his head.

“Read my cup? You have clearer eyes. I have the vision of an old man.”

The girl doesn't say anything in response; instead, she takes his cup carefully, turning it around steadily.

“A spiral; downwards direction. First quadrant?” She hums softly in place, soon raising her head to meet Zao's questioning stare. “Are you down in the dumps right now, old man? The leaves seem to think so.”

Zao grins; though it's empty.

“What's your name, exactly?” He asks.

She reaches out to pour her cup some more tea, a neutral expression settling on her face. 

“Mariela Sigrún Klassen.”

He stands up abruptly, stretching his arms. The time was 5:15 in the afternoon—he feels Mariela's eyes watch his every move, her stare soft but guarded, almost as if something about Zao threatened her.

The male flashes her a charming grin, waving goodbye cheerfully thereafter.

“I'll answer your question next year, Sigrún!”

However, he would not see Mariela Sigrún again the following year, but he would hear from some students during the after hours of school that she had returned to Iceland to take care of her sick mother. The debate club's designated room would smell only of fresh paint thereafter, no more lingering honey or syrup.

In spite of her absence, Zao would put Mariela in the list of people he would look out for.


End file.
